


Hotel Rooms & Headlights

by spellitwithyourpeas



Series: Bruised, Not Broken [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mini road trip fic, fluffy at the end, little bit of prose style thrown in, mild violence, the usual kastle shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellitwithyourpeas/pseuds/spellitwithyourpeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You learn the most about people when 1) the unexpected happens 2) they're taken out of their usual environment. The space between them feels heavy-with words unspoken and touches not returned.<br/>She's not entirely certain he'll agree to join her on her short trip to Boston, but she's hopeful. When they get stuck in a room with one bed, she's hopeful for other reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> *note: I hate writing summaries and am TERRIBLE at it, so if you clicked on this story anyway. A heartfelt thank you to you.
> 
> First multi-chapter story, oh boy. This has been a process (many days, many rants on tumblr, coffee and lots of Lana del Rey). Thanks for checking it out! (I always write the emotional stuff so trying to incorporate actual plot details was a tad challenging.) I've always been a "less is more" kind of writer anyway so here goes.

**_Isn’t blood a_ **

**_woman’s ink?_ **

 Brenda Shaughnessy

In the end, the story she’s chasing doesn’t matter.

It does and it doesn’t.

The events that unfold serve as a catalyst.

 _The Bulletin_ gets a cover page with a wicked headliner, but at what cost?

She bleeds for this story. Her blood is muddied with the ink imprinted on each page. Bruises span her body.

A reminder that she held this one a little too close to the heart.

The details don’t matter. Not really.

She projects. A one-woman army (and one punisher) against a corrupt corporation affiliated with the raging tide of a drug wreaking havoc (more than usual).

The waste of Hell’s Kitchen, seeping into the streets of Boston.

The stench is unmistakable.

When she spots the connection, it’s instant gratification.

When she unearths the wrongful termination suit (someone always sees something they shouldn’t) she can’t settle until she’s moving forward, edging closer to the town with the dead man at her side.

That nag. The instinct.

It’s a flutter inside her bones shaking the ground beneath her.

Pushing her towards the truth

If the soul of Karen Page was dissected, Truth, would be huddled in her heart.

Frank can appreciate that desire to seek out and uncover what is buried- even if the details are unclear. A blur of a memory.

The haze of the unknown- wasn’t totally unfamiliar for the likes of him.

He understands the drive really-to claw at the thing that’s been crowding your mind – he joins her with little hesitation…much like she did for him those months ago. When he was locked in the cage.

The story itself doesn’t matter. (They all are the same anyway-deceit, greed, and violence).

The missed glances, the whispered words (and unspoken fears), the tangle of limbs wrapped in sheets, of messy hair, and mediocre diners.

The scenes that played between them-ambiguous and opaque.

Those matter.


	2. Edges like knives

**_Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives."_ **

_\- Barbara Kingsolver_

“Just give me five days.”

Ellison scoffed, “Five days!?”

“Fine." Karen nodded, "Three days."  She held Mitchell Ellison’s gaze willing him over to her side."This is a good lead and a killer story.”  

He didn’t look convinced.

“You say ‘killer story’ Karen-maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.” He massaged his temples. “Trouble finds you. Without fail.”

Karen’s expression softened, his statement wasn’t one she could argue with. She held back a shudder as her mind started scrolling through the events of the past year.

“I’ll be careful.”

 She almost choked on the words. How many times had she spoken them aloud to have regretted them later?

He sighed and leaned into his desk, his arms crossed. “Alright, but I want you to keep me updated.”

She bit back a victorious smile that didn’t go unnoticed by her weary editor.

“No Karen, I’m serious.”  As she turned to leave, he added “And don’t go alone.”

She gave a small nod of acknowledgment before she walked away, her steps almost faltered when she wondered if he knew. Did he know about the criminal who frequented her apartment? Who met with her weekly at the diner only a few blocks from the office?

Did he suspect that he was her weakness?

The questions rolled around in her mind and she tried to imagine spending three days straight with Frank Castle.

Butterflies swarmed low in her stomach.  _Aw Hell._

Ellison watched her walk back to her office. He knew the itch that accompanied a developing story well enough. The understanding didn’t stop him from wishing Ben’s rising protege had greater cause to pause and consider the consequences. She always seemed to run ahead, nose to the ground until she found the source of the smell of decay (a fairly common scent in the city).

Ben had been more cautious.

Even so, look where he that got him.

\---

Karen tapped her pen restlessly against her notebook as she sat at her kitchen table, listening to her phone ring. 

She didn’t have to wait long before he picked up with a gruff, “Yeah?”

“I need to ask you a favor.”

It was comfortable. There was an ease between them now. Renewed. (For the most part.)

“Ask.”

 

He didn’t interrupt her with a no when she explained her business in Boston...he listened and only paused briefly before he asked all the right questions. Her source. Their reliability. Her goals and timeline. (He didn’t ask about the actual details of the drive. Where they’d be staying. Who was paying.)

When he said “he knew a guy” that could dig up some more dirt on her source and the company, she smirked and focused on the first part of the sentence.

“You have a friend.”

“I said I ‘knew a guy’ not that I had a friend. They’re different things.”

“Sure Frank.”

It hadn't taken long for the banter to set back in. At first there had been anger…on both their parts. They hadn’t exactly been on the same page that night in the woods.  She truly didn’t know if she could call what he did- wrong. Monstrous? Maybe. But wrong?

Well, who was she to judge on that account.

They came back to each other of their own resolve and she was happier for it.

They picked a time for her to pick him up in two days. Enough time for him to make some arrangements. Time for her to triple check her information. And pack.

When she pulled the purple suitcase down from its stowaway in her closet, the wheels hit the floor with a thud.

 She looked at it with disdain. Much of her life had been packed away in the 30” x 18” space. She hadn’t been out of the city since that day really.

Memories that were better left untouched, stirred.

\---

His duffel bags hit the inside of the trunk with a heavy clunk that caused her to raise her eyebrows at him.

 To which he shrugged. “You said back up Ma’am and this,” he gestured at the two bags, “is back up.”

Karen nodded, “You are the expert” and slammed the trunk shut hard.

Her purple suitcase would do just fine in the backseat.

She paused before opening the passenger door, keeping her tone soft. “Listen, Frank.” She bit into the red lipstick that stained her lips, “I appreciate you doing this. I really do. I just-,” she struggled to find the words.

He found them for her.

“You’re asking for subtly.”

Karen exhaled, “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking for.”

“Low profile ain’t exactly my specialty.” It was spoken lightly, but she knew a dark warning brewed in the low timbre of his voice.

“I know. I’ve seen the crime scene photos.” It comes across as dry and somewhat cynical .

_Lived them too._ The memory of what she’d witnessed-well, heard-in the diner came rushing back. The pure rage. The wet sound of blood dripping from his mouth. The space where the man’s face should have been.

She swallowed down the sourness and he must have seen her hesitate because he held her gaze.

 “Karen.”

Her name on his lips, a new intimacy, eased her immediate fears. “I’m on your side remember.”

Her expression echoed one of surprise and a trace of doubt.  _Are you though? Are you going to use me? Leave me stranded in the woods?_

But she only nodded, and gave a weak smile, “I know. We should get going.” There was a cool breeze to the summer air and she rubbed her arms before opening the door and sinking into the passenger seat.

He paused for the briefest of moments before he joined her in the car.

 Talk of “sides” was dangerous and murky territory best left unexplored. The lines he drew weren’t as clear cut as Murdock’s. For the most part, the guy was unwavering. He could respect that.

Maybe even learn from it.

Nevertheless, whatever he had with Karen. It worked.

That’s all that mattered.

 Frank settled in and started the engine. His voice was a low murmur. “There’s fresh coffee in the thermos.” He jerked his head towards his lone bag in the backseat as he started to drive.

 Karen leaned over the glove compartment. His mouth twitched a small smile when he heard her mutter “Life saver”. She sipped greedily from the red thermos in an attempt to drown out the morning daze. When she offered it, he extended a hand and took it. His eyes locked on the road in front of him.

She watched him take a drink of the black coffee.

 Her throat tightened at the thought of his lips ghosting over the rim, where hers had been. She turned her head to gaze out the window searching for anything to distract her from the nervous tension building in her stomach.

“Karen.”

Her eyes were wide when she turned back to him, but he only handed her back the thermos.

 Right. The lid was still in her lap.

“You good?” He questioned, as she screwed it back on, setting the thermos at her feet.

“Yeah.” It sounded a little breathless and she hid it with a smile and an excuse, “Yeah, just tired.”

Frank nodded in understanding, “Might as well try to catch up on your sleep.”

She drifted. Even the sounds of the city traffic didn’t wake her. Her blond hair bunched up against the glass in a messy halo.

Frank glanced over occasionally. Noting the rapid flutter of her eyes, he wondered what consumed her dreams. Were they bloody and riddled with guilt like his? Did the faces of old enemies (or friends) taunt her?

Or are they happy memories? Fleeting and faded.

He wondered…and it felt like an act of betrayal.

To his wife. To the seemingly sacred act of burning down his house.

Karen Page was a force to be reckoned with. He hated making exceptions.

But she made a pretty good one.


	3. How to grieve

**_"Not knowing how to grieve can poison / like a directionless dart."_ **

_\- Brenda Shaughnessy,_

 

Karen startled awake, bumping her head against the glass as they hit a bump on I-90. She stiffened and her eyes were wild, assessing her surroundings.

 Frank took in her brief look of fear.

“Easy.” His voice floated over the growl of Creedence Clearwater on the radio. She’d slept through him flipping through stations till he found classic rock.

Under his gaze, her trembling hands steadied.  She always found comfort in his voice. She likened the low rumble to sound of gravel under her boots. She mumbled out an apology as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“Nothing to apologize for.”

 The compassion in his voice made her want to spill all the secrets she buried. The lingering fears, the doubts she had- of herself and of others.

(Of him).

(Of them).

But she swallowed the words and asked for an update on their progress instead.

“We’re an hour in.”

She rubbed her eyes and reached into her bag for her notebook, flipping through her scattered notes.

Frank kept his tone casual when he asked about how she learned about the case. 

The words were spoken clinically. The drugs-potent and pure-were wreaking havoc in the streets. Sending even the most experienced users into the ER.

 The source elusive. The rate of distribution without parallel. Hell’s Kitchen (small, contained) the perfect testing ground, but not the home front of the operation.

Someone had slipped and mentioned a name. One name and it opened the flood gates of speculation. When she researched into the corporation’s dirt she didn’t like what she found.

One misdirected email to one innocent person (all too familiar to her) and their innocence was tainted.  A life ruined by someone else’s lack of discretion and illegal activity.

Frank sighed, noting the bitterness that crept into her voice, “Just…don’t make this personal Karen.”

Her contact was eager to share her story. Who was she to deny that because of a few loose threads?

The clench of his jaw hinted that he wanted to say more. Oh he read up on Karen. He knew about her stint with Union Allied long before it came up in conversation between them. The “murder” she confessed to him. (“Self-defense.” She’d given him a blank look and repeated herself. “Murder”).

Nevertheless, he’d been right, his case had most certainly not been her first rodeo.

 But this? This sounded like some fucked up attempt to save a woman branded with a similar fate.

“I’m sorry Frank, but you don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything.” She turned her head back to the window, growing dizzy following the waves of telephone wire.

The silence that followed was unsettling. _Jesus Christ Karen, you’re only an hour and a half in. What the hell were you thinking. What the fuck are you doing with him_.

The berating thoughts tidal in and out until thirty minutes later he suggested they stop and stretch at the next exit. She nodded in agreement.

Frank pulled into the nearest pump and topped off the tank, grateful to be standing. He watched Karen stride into the gas station store. He didn’t blame her defensiveness, but didn’t make the words she threw back at him sting any less.

Because she was right. Everything he did was goddamn personal.   

She came back with two cups of the shittiest coffee she’d ever tasted.

(He took a sip, “Tastes fine to me.”)

And it made her smile, her olive branch accepted.

An hour later, when Karen’s stomach started growling, Frank suggested they break for lunch.

“It’s a 4 hour drive Frank. My trail mix will hold me over.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well you can stay in the car with your trail mix then.” And she couldn’t help but laugh. _Asshole._

She’d checked the time on the dash regularly. Waiting had never been a strength of hers.

Frank, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content. He’d trace the patience back to countless covert ops. Being cooped up in one spot for hours doing recon tended to slow your whole system down.

But even after all that experience, it didn’t compare to the patience he’d learned from having kids.

That was a different ball game entirely.

 They stopped at a little mom and pop roadside restaurant. He held the door open for her, and they took in the quaint sight of a few regulars sitting up at the bar and a family with two kids at one of the tables.

They requested a booth. It’s a rare sight, but Frank’s face was free of bruises. His presence still drew the gaze of the parents and older men at the bar. She saw the look of respect from the potbellied men as they recognized the gait of a fellow military man. One even raised a glass with a toothy grin.

 He carried himself with a cool confidence. Exuded control.

Karen was thankful for it (she ignored the other feeling, stirring low in her stomach).

Eventually the onlookers lost interest in the attractive pair who sat, murmuring quietly to each other, in the corner booth.

Karen ordered the grilled cheese and tomato soup. Frank ordered the burger and fries.

She was at ease. When she glanced around the restaurant, it wasn’t out of weariness or fear, merely general curiosity.

Nothing clattered to the floor. There wasn’t a car tailing them. Nothing to spook her except her own misguided feelings towards the man across from her.

Her eyes rested on the family at the table in the center of the restaurant. She stared, probably longer than appropriate. The father entertained the four-year-old boy while the mother burped the baby, couldn’t be more than 6 months old.

The young woman met Karen’s gaze and smiled.

Karen smiled back quickly before she ducked her head, flustered at getting caught.

Frank observed the exchange quietly.

Maybe in another life she’d be living in the suburbs, content as a stay at home mom. She’d go to bed exhausted from waking in the middle of the night to warm the bottle-not to finish her story before the upcoming deadline, the taste of scotch heavy on her breath.

Maybe if she hadn’t left Vermont she would have married her high school sweet heart. Maybe-

“You like kids?” His gruff voice chased her thoughts away.

“Depends on the kid.” He smirked and she continued, “But babies? Yeah, can’t resist a cute baby.”

Frank sipped on his water, waiting to hear more. She sighed, “It’s just not something I anticipate in my future. After all of this? I can’t do that. I don’t think I can have that.” She gave a small nod to the family.

He shook his head, “Don’t write yourself off yet, you’re still young. You can still get out of this.”

She scoffed, _Right because you’re so much older than me._

Karen fiddling with the straw wrapper, “Not that easy.”

“It sure as hell is that easy. You make a choice. Put the past behind you.”

Karen rolled her eyes, ready with a quick retort, but the waitress walked up with their meals and a smile.

She dipped her grilled cheese in the tomato soup and replied when the waitress was out of earshot. “I’ve done that once already Frank and I’m not going through that again. Besides,” it’s wistful, “I don’t know if that kind of life would satisfy me.”

He straightened and she knew she unintentionally struck a chord.

“It would… trust me. You don’t expect it to. But it does.”

_And I’d give anything to have it back._ He doesn’t need to speak the words. 

They eat the rest of their meal in silence, at least until the family payed their bill and left the restaurant. A jingle of the bell on the door announced their departure.

And the preoccupation with the past, the future, of regrets and unspoken prayers, shattered. They resumed their conversation- solely with a focus on the present.


	4. Monsters hidden within

_"Most of us are gifted with the ability to see the monsters hidden within another, but are unable to see past them. It takes a special kind of person to see the light inside of every living being."_

_\- Lynette Simeone_

The storm started when they crossed into Connecticut.  It was a wretched down pour and Karen gripped the steering wheel tight, her knuckles white. The windshield wipers were on full blast and they sounded like a racing, ticking clock.

“Jesus, I can’t even see the-"

Before she finished the mutter of a sentence, a glimmer of red flashed in front of them and she braked. Hard enough for the seat belts to engage tight around them.

“Shit.” Her voice was shaky as she saw the bumper of the car in front of her.

Frank leaned forward, “It’s ok. You didn’t hit him.” She stared ahead, her hands still locked around the wheel as she stared.

He saw her taking shallow breaths and spoke quietly, “Ma’am why don’t you let me take over.”

Karen nodded.

A mere thirty seconds passed as they got out of the car and switched seats and they were soaked. Karen sniffed as she turned on the heat. Frank settled in, a quick glance told him she was calming down.

They inched forward following the car until it turned into the oncoming lane and drove away.

A massive tree blocked the road ahead.

Frank put the car in park and turned to Karen, “We can stop at the motel we passed a while back. We’re close, but this,” he waved at the torrential rain and road block, “doesn’t look like it’s going to be cleared up anytime soon.”

“Right.”

They reached Rocky Hill late in the afternoon and stopped at the first reasonable looking motel they found. Frank pulled into a spot close to the office entrance.

Karen groaned, muscles stiff, as she pulled herself out of the passenger side. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sky was a dark gray. The storm promising to continue.

As she jogged over to the small office, she was thankful she went with jeans, an old college t-shirt, and her (mostly unused) pair of tennis shoes. There was no way she was going to be stuck in a car for that long in a pencil skirt ( _that_ was neatly pressed in her suitcase).

 Frank gave a small smile when he took in her casual dress when she picked him up that morning.

The office was what she would expect from a motel with the name of “The Blue Bonnet".  A wooden cuckoo clock hung on the wall behind the front desk.  And an elderly woman greeted her with a smile. Louise was engraved neatly on her name tag. She was an expert in small talk and Karen weaved through it all, finally managing to slip “A room with a double, if you’ve got it” into the conversation.  

“Oh, honey I’m sorry. All we have left are singles.” Louise pointed to a poster on the wall, “Big flower festival this week.”

Karen exhaled and gave a quiet laugh. _Of course._

He’d stayed over at her place plenty of times.

On the couch.

She never told him (and wondered if he’d guessed) how his presence drove the night terrors away.

“I’ll take whatever you have left then. Just for the night.”

 “Alright! That’ll be $85.00, you can sign right here. We’ve got a nice pool and is just around the corner from your room.” The woman paused and then frowned, “Though with this weather I’m not sure how much use you’ll get out of it.”

Karen smiled and handed her credit card to Louise, who brightened as she took it and swiped. “Check out is at 11.”

Karen thanked her and took the key. The teeth bit into her palm and she let the sensation drive away thoughts that had been digging their way to the surface.

_You don’t have any claim over this man._

_You shouldn’t want to._

She was probably in the wrong, but she didn’t care. Far past caring. She knew underneath the cold exterior, a furious heart beat the same rhythm as hers.  

Without fail, he always withdrew from her touch. She did her best to refrain, but there was still so much uncharted territory between them that she wanted to surpass. And all the words caught in her throat, everything she wanted to say, when held back-she swallowed them back down.

She could never blame him or be angry. How could she?

She knew without a doubt he’d take the floor tonight.

Karen jogged back to the car and Frank stepped out, grabbing her suitcase, shouldered the small duffel bag from the backseat before opening the trunk before he grabbed one of the much larger, heavier duffel bags.

He caught her eye, “Just maintenance.”

“Sure. We’re in 108, that way.” She took her suitcase from him.

The room was small, or at least it seemed small with him in it. Nothing spectacular, but it seemed clean. The wall paper lining the wall was painted with seashells.

Frank dropped his bag on the small table in the corner and took a seat. He didn’t comment on the single bed in the center of the room.

Karen set her suitcase on the rack and unzipped it, happy to have a task at hand. “Sorry about the room. They only had singles.”

Frank gave a nonchalant shrug, “It’s fine. I don’t mind the floor.”

She straightened, “Frank—,”

“Floor’s fine, Ma’am.” There was an air of finality to his tone as he started taking out the contents of the bag and she just nodded.

_There it is again._

_The longing._

She couldn’t tell if the shiver was from the chill of the air conditioning on her rain soaked skin or from the passing thought. Karen grabbed a change of clothes and her toiletries and headed into the bathroom, turning the knob on the shower to hot. When she peeled off her wet clothes and stepped under the warm water, the tension she'd been carrying, dissipated.

Lost in the steam.

The storm had thrown her off. Ever since Kevin…

She hated driving in storms. Add on the fact that she was closer to home than she’d been since moving to the city…

She was off kilter.

Those memories, hidden in the back of her mind (buried), were being pulled up from their grave. The deep one that she dug all those years ago.

Of course it wasn’t just the storm or momentary standstill in the trip that had her on edge. As she lathered her hair, she mulled over the exact moment she realized she was fucked when it came to Frank Castle.

It wasn’t when he showed up bleeding (more than usual) at her doorstep. It wasn’t in the woods when anger and disappointment or (maybe just plain bitterness) stewed in her heart. It wasn’t when her breath hitched in her throat when she heard the succession of shots ring out in the night that cause her to look up. Finding him standing on a rooftop ledge, the white of the skull staring back at her.

It was on the pier-among the flames and corpses- when she felt every beat of her heart pounding hard in her chest.

Brett wasn’t wrong when he’d thought she was afraid. She was terrified.

Afraid that this murderer. This man who was both loathed and revered, was one of the dead.

At that moment, her fate felt helplessly tied to Frank Castle and as fucked up as it was, her grief was pure. He was a stranger really.

She hadn’t known him that long or long enough for him to have made such an impression on her, but he had. She had no claim over him except for his gratitude to her. For his misguided attention to detail.

Her (failed) attempt to separate from his story had sent her on a wild chase. There had been a pull in his direction that she couldn’t resist.  

Frank Castle- Husband, Soldier, Father.

Punisher.

The man who wasn’t hiding behind a mask.

And that mattered.

So when she looked with close detail at the bodies laid before her, it was because she felt like she had brought him back from the dead a second time. Had he been there... Face down in the gravel..

It would have been a sign of her own failure.

To make matters worse, she cared for him. Deeply. No matter how she tried to talk herself out of it (and she did try-often).

When she turned off the faucet and stood in front of the mirror, wiping at the condensation.

The sight of her reflection, rosy from more than the hot water, convinced her that she put her trust in the right man this time, even if it was doomed.


	5. Every moment they got sharper

**" _He held me when my insecurities were as sharp as a knife and at every moment they got sharper, he held me even tighter."_**

_\- Maram Rimawi_

When she came out of the bathroom toweling her hair, he was seated at the table, taking apart a gun she didn’t know the name of.

Frank glanced up wearily.

 Karen Page was not a hesitant person. Hell, she got in his face. Called him out his bull shit. (He wasn’t too proud to admit that yeah, maybe he needed that).

Recently though, she’d closed up. And shit he didn’t even want to follow the conclusion his mind went to. Didn’t want to consider that maybe his attempts at keeping her at arm’s length had backfired. He always knew she cared, but God if it was anything else, he didn’t know if he could live with that.

He felt her every touch and resisted every urge to reciprocate. To brush away her tears, to put a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the door he held open, to pull her to him when she turned away in anger.

And it was all exhausting.

 But he held the reins tight on this one.

He watched her run a hand through her damp hair and cleared his throat, “I ordered us some Thai from the place down the street. Should be here soon.” Thunder rumbled. “Maybe.”

“They’re delivering in this weather?” She glanced out at the rain pelting bullets in the crowded parking lot, skeptical.

He shrugged, “Guess we’ll see.”

Karen walked over to the window to take in the storm raging outside. Driving in it had been unnerving.

Lightening lit the dark sky, reflecting on the wet pavement. A flash of headlights. One wrong turn. One wrong decision and everything spiraled into chaos. It was easy to forget in the bustling city. Not easy to forget on the open road or cooped up in a motel room.

She stared ahead as the wind tore through the trees. The question slipped out, a passing thought that escaped into the space between them, “Are your parents still alive?”

He looked up at her in shock. This was past their usual level of disclosure.

He answered anyway.

“No. They’re not.”

Frank interrupted her attempted apology, “It’s for the best.” Low and clipped.

_Goddamn couldn’t live with myself if they were alive to see me now. A certifiable, psychotic fuck up._

“Mine are.” She turned away from the raindrops trailing down the window to meet his curious gaze. “They live four hours North of here. Closest I’ve been in a long time.”

He went back to cleaning the barrel. “You want to make a side trip on the way back?”

Her smile was sad…. wistful at the thought of her childhood home nestled among the trees at the end of the street. The white shutters stood out like a sore thumb among the green except in the winter. With the snow. She’d come back from ski trips with her friends and it was as though the house had been blended into the background. 

“I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“They’re your parents.” He didn't try to hide his disbelief.

In his mind he couldn’t fully comprehend how the parents of Karen Page, wouldn’t pull her into their arms at the sight of her on their doorstep. Personally, if Lisa had grown up. It wouldn’t have mattered what she did or didn't do. Or how far she ran. He’d find her. He’d welcome her home.  

“Whatever you did can’t be that bad?”

Panic flooded her expression and it shut him up. He glanced back down at his work. A calculated gesture to give her time to recover.

Her throat was dry when she repeated herself in what felt like a croak, “No, Frank. I wouldn’t be welcome.”

It was final, but she didn’t withdraw from him. Rather, she joined him at the table and asked him about the gun he was so intent on cleaning. He spilled his knowledge. Personal anecdotes popped up in between facts and it wasn't long before they were chuckling as he told her  stories from boot camp.

“Back when I didn’t know any better.”

They almost miss the knock from the unfortunate, underpaid delivery man stuck working during the storm.

Frank tipped him generously and took the steaming bag from him. Was it a look of fondness that overtook him when he turned to find her carefully compiling the scattered parts of the gun to make room for their food?

Admiration? Or just gratitude?

“Frank.”

“What?”

“You’re staring. You gonna stand there or dish out the goods?” She pointed to the bag.

“Hold your horses, Page.”

She grinned, “I’m starving.”

“Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t try to last on your trail mix.”

His comment earned him a little smack on his elbow and he huffed. When he finally sat down, there was the barest glint of a twinkle in his eyes. 


	6. I know no religion

_"I know no religion_

_but the black of your hair_

_matted against the pillow."_

_\- Maari Carter_

 

 “What about Murdock?”

Karen swallowed her food, a hand covering her mouth, “What about him?” she mumbled.

Frank shrugged. “Just haven’t mentioned him in a while.”

 _I never talked about him with you. You…you just watched and took note._ Karen dug her plastic fork hard into the square piece of chicken, “There’s not much to say. Honestly, you probably talk to him more than I do at this point.” There’s no bitterness. The jaded feeling long since passed.

She was trying something new.

Acceptance. Forgiveness (that was harder), but not forgetfulness. She allowed herself that caveat. Her relationship with Matt had been emotionally draining. The idea of going through that again made her want to lie face down on her bed and sleep for days. She didn’t have that kind of energy anymore to devote to disappointment.

She glanced at Frank and he caught her eye and opened his mouth to speak ( _Ok maybe I have a specific, allotted amount of energy to spend on lost causes…)_

“I’m not going to take back what I said that night…in the diner.” He twirled his fork around the noodles, “But I’m not going to tell you to take him back either. That ain’t fair to you” He shrugged, “But I will say he’s been through a shit storm.”

Karen nodded. She learned about Elektra after the fact. Had she known earlier, she might have gone to the funeral. If she knew how important she had been to him.

Was she ever in the running or was she just a distraction?

“Maybe he just didn’t know what he wanted.”

_Fuck. I said that out loud._

She cleared her throat, “Yeah, well that doesn’t make it easy for us women folk.”

 Frank shrugged, “Makes sense with him though, living two different lives, at war with himself about it. Wants more than he can have. Had to make a choice in the end.”

Karen scooped the crumbs into her palm and dumped them in her empty bowl, “Well he made his.”

Frank nodded, “All I’m saying is right now, maybe he could use a friend. Just a friend. And it sure as shit aint going to be me so…”

She looked up at him in shock and she laughed, “Are you seriously making the case for Matt Murdock right now? Sounds like a pretty “friendly” thing to do.” Karen challenged him.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Not a big deal.”

She teased, “It kind of is.” But there was something else in his eyes. He never failed to surprise her.“You…respect him don’t you?”

He looked thoughtful, “Yeah, yeah I guess I do.  We have our differences," He ignored Karen's sarcastic "Clearly" and continued, "He’s a better man than me.” He scrunched his nose up at the end and she let the teasing nature of her town drop.

“You’re no less of a better man than he is.”

Frank only nodded slowly, her words heard and received. Believed? That was another matter up for debate.

The storm ended and passed leaving the grey sky in its wake. There was a touch of light that blurred into the edges of the clouds as the sun set.

Her contact called her an hour later to confirm their meeting and for the rest of the night the mood shifted. He was focused on establishing a plan. This was the first she’d really seen him in preparation mode and it was…impressive. She’d done this all on her own plenty of times before, but this time…it was different.

This wasn’t her city.

\---

The sheets twisted around her, coiled around her form in the dark. She shuddered in her sleep. Pathetic and heartbreaking sounds escaped from her and it made him want to beat the living shit out of Fisk all over again.

He’d stayed over at her place enough times now to be familiar with her restlessness.

It was easier to ignore her cries when he was a whole room away-doing his own battle with sleep on the couch. But now it was only a foot and a bed in between them.

Every fiber of his being told him to leave her be.

Don’t cross that line. The one he started to draw when he told her to stay away. One touch and it’d be over for him. He didn’t doubt Karen’s ability to dig her nails into the grip she already had on his heart.

_Sappy shit._

_Fuck_.

Keep it professional.

But it was never just business. Even when she was slaving over his case with more gusto than he was ever willing to muster. It had always been personal.

She had been in his home.

He heard her gasp and whimper and he kicked off the blankets and sat up.

He spoke to her gently as he sat onto the edge of the bed. Frank turned on the bedside lamp and the dark circles under her eyes were illuminated. She opened her eyes and he saw uncertainty in the blue as she woke, groggy, “Frank? Was I-,”

The images of the nightmares joined with her waking self. “Oh god-,” She covered her mouth as a sob raked through her,

There were bloodstains on the road. Glassy eyes stared back at her and her scream had been silent. She was trapped until the perspective changed. She was the one firing the gun.

He recognized that terror.

“Hey c’mere.” He pulled her to him, sinking deeper into the bed. Her shoulders shook against him and he held her close. She curled into his embrace, clutching at his shirt in a tight grip. His touch was soft, his callused fingers traced a meaningless pattern on her back, “Breathe sweetheart, just breathe,”.

He felt her settle slowly.

She drifted into a neutral dream of chasing after shadows. His words echoed in and out and she slipped into sleep, wondering she had dreamed up him cradling her, calling her sweetheart.

Frank felt her fingers release his shirt.

 It shouldn’t be him. He shouldn’t be the one able to comfort her. They never talk about how she had been in the line of fire-not much time for reminiscing and honestly what’s the point. With him there’s not much good to reminisce about…at least, nothing recently.

His thumb brushed against her shoulder absentmindedly. Funny how it all comes back to you.

Comfort...empathy.

 Maria had always been the strong one. She held the family together. She was the one who talked him through the panic.

He could handle the kids. But he needed her.

Frank looked down at Karen. Studying her and he wondered if what he just did actually meant something in the long run.

( It did).

His speech in the diner might have given away that he was a romantic at heart, but he’d say it was more of side effect of getting your priorities straightened out. There were things that actually mattered in life.

Love happened to be one of those things.

He was avoiding following that train of thought. Better to leave the pieces scattered around the woman in his arms. He didn’t have the ability anymore to pick them up and put them together. Probably never would.

The question was…. could she live with that? Live with the ambiguity.

 It was all he could give her.

Frank tried to release her, to slip back to his spot on the floor, but she leaned into him and his breath hitched in his throat.

Fine.

He stretched out next to her and pushed aside the unanswered questions, giving in to sleep.

 


	7. How to breathe again

**_"You are not broken. You can love and be loved, despite what may feel like the eternally brutal nature of the world. Even when you’re drowning and so far under, there is always time to reach for someone who will teach you how to breathe again."_ **

_\- Jessica Park,_

 

She woke at dawn, more awake than she should have been. It took her a moment to realize that she was being held and she stiffened. until she looked over her shoulder to see Frank’s nose pressed into her shoulder blades, sleeping content.

Karen relaxed and smiled at her current position, but it wavered when she remembered the events that led up to it. The nightmares. The flash of the gun and the drop of the body hitting the pavement.

Part of her wanted to stay. Wrapped under covers with him, embraced by this impossible man. Part of her wanted to stay and pretend. Imagine some kind of life for them. Suggest another way to forget the past.

But she slipped out of his grasp and changed into shorts instead. She left the room with one last glance at Frank splayed out in the bed. A low snore escaped and she smiled fondly before she quietly shut the door.

The pool was empty and that suited Karen just fine. She toed out of her flip flops and sat on the edge, dipping her legs in to the cool water, the fine grains of cement dug into her flattened palms. The sun was peaking over the horizon and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

A little laugh fluttered in her chest and she felt almost...giddy.

For a moment it felt like a well-deserved vacation. There wasn’t a wanted man in her hotel room. The desire to chase after (for all she knows, a halfhearted truth), was non-existent.

It’s just her, the sun, and the weightless feeling of the water beckoning her in.

 Just this moment.

She watched the sun rise in the ripples of the water and as the shadows retreated, so did the memories that haunted her night. She stayed, letting the silence fill her with a renewed sense of calm.


	8. Behind their masks

**_"I saw all the people behind their masks – I saw through them and there was suffering."_ **

_\- Vincent van Gogh_

They’re back on the road an hour later. The intimacy had shifted something between them, but it was unacknowledged and unspoken. Two nails in a coffin.

Once in Boston, the hotel they checked in at had plenty of doubles available. She took the two key cards wordlessly.

The meeting went shockingly well. The coffee shop was quiet except for the low jazz playing steady in the background. The place smelled divine and the sight of college students stuck studying in their spring semester chased away any ominous feelings.

When she walked in, she spotted Frank in the back corner, a clear view of the whole shop, sipping out of a tiny cup, flipping through _The Boston Globe._

 Her source had been through hell and was still feeling the aftershocks of the lawsuit. The police never fully looked into her complaints that she was being stalked even after she took the deal. 

The woman spoke calmly and firmly. The information she gave Karen was beyond beneficial.

When Frank met her at the car, her restlessness wasn't one out of fear, rather excitement. The words and data ran laps in her mind, waiting to be strung together in coherent thought.

When they returned to the room, the first thing she did was take pictures of the documents. Karen grinned. Ellison was going to lose his shit. She sent him a quick text (the first of the many she forgot to send) and emailed him a copy of the files.

 Frank hovered near the door, “Hey, I got something I want to check out downtown. You good if I take the car out again?” Karen glanced up with a tiny smile, “A tip from your friend?”

Frank rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to repeat the question. She waved him off turning back towards the papers, “I’m good.”

He hesitated, “You bring your .380?”

She looked up, distractedly, “No, but I think I’ll be ok,” she gestured at the extra bag sitting on the table.

“Those are, uh, a bit bigger.”

“I think I can manage. Frank-,”

He sighed, sensed the familiar request, “I’m just scoping something out Page. No one’s dying today.”

“I’m sorry, I just…look. I’m pretty sure my editor is already suspicious and “Punisher in Boston” would just be the cherry on top.”

There was a pause after he nodded, like he wanted to linger. She laughed, “For God’s sake, go. I’m not going to be good company tonight anyway.”

“Just call me if you run into trouble.”

“Will do.”

She heard the door click shut and she started to type on the blank word document, breaking to fact check against the documents or rewind her recorder.

\---

The first draft came together quickly.

A knock interrupted her thoughts and she froze. The tap came again and her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t Frank.

He had a key. And it was too early.

She shut her laptop and shuffled the papers together, calling out “Just a minute,” before shoving the papers and laptop under the bed.

So it was probably the maid. Her life experience dictated that she no longer had to laugh at her behavior that bordered paranoia.

She followed her gut now, toeing the line between finding trouble and letting it find her.

When she opened the door, the sight of the man in the suit sent a shiver down her spine.

There was a black escalade in the parking lot. The driver stood silently by the door.

_More like back up_

Other than his high end state of dress the man did not resemble James Wesley, but it was enough for her body to remember the fear. The shock. No this man was older-his face weathered with age (and experience).

_Fuck._

At first glance, the smile he gave her appeared friendly. A second look made her think of Little Red Riding Hood. A wolf at her door.

“Ms. Page-,”

Her attempt to slam the door in his face was a partial success. He had enough force to stop the door from shutting completely. But it gave her enough time to run and barricade herself in the tiny bathroom. She locked the door and sat against it, frantically dialing the only number she had memorized.

The events that followed were a spiraling mess.

“Karen?”

She felt herself stumble over her words as she desperately tried to give him any and every important detail that could both explain the situation and aid him for what was to come. She spoke over him as the door shook behind her back as the impact of a body (whether it was the man or his “driver” she couldn’t tell) slammed into the door.

She fell forward and screamed when she felt hands grab her from her waist, a voice snarling in her ear, “You don’t want to play nice? That’s fine we don’t have to play nice.”

She clawed at him as he dragged her out, she bit and she twisted, attempting to squirm out of his grip.

Later the man would find her nail marks indented in his skin.

Later she’d run her hands through her hair and trace the lacerations on her scalp from where he pistol whipped her.

Her vision faded and she saw only black.


	9. A hard man to love

_You're a hard man to love and I'm_

_A hard woman to keep track of_

_You like to rage, don't do that_

Lana del Rey "Is this Happiness"

He blamed himself.

 He should’ve known. Everything had been going too smoothly and the two of them weren’t that lucky.

Not ever.

When her screams stopped and he heard only silence, he hung up and tapped the next number on his recent calls.

When he told the hacker  end the limited information he knew and the specifics he needed, Frank sounded calm. Underneath the slight edge, there was the barest hint of a waver to his voice.

But his blood boiled. He grit his teeth as he waited in the car.

The only thought that kept him composed was the knowledge she needed him at his best.

Needed his mind sharp, eyes forward, and hands steady.

(And maybe knowing that he would rip the men who hurt her to shreds helped too.)

He would enjoy every second of it.

All that mattered was that in the end she was safe. 

 _You already failed her._ And that part of him conjured up vile images. The cost she was probably already paying -because of his recklessness.

The voice at his ear gave an address and a name. Frank's thank you was genuine. 

The man on the other end smiled, “Directions should be all set once you hang up. Give em hell Frank.”

Frank didn’t know how he’d been able to piece together the information and he didn’t ask.

He ended the call and started driving, trigger finger tapping out a promise.

\---

It didn’t take long for her to realize that the suit was just a disguise, masking the brute underneath. There was no negotiating, no warnings or threats made.

Just punishment.

(She had started refraining from using that word).

But in her current case, it was fitting.

It hurt and she wondered at what point she’d be lucky enough to pass out again. She tasted the blood and she gagged. It was sticky in her throat.

They had _let_ her contact meet with her. _Let_ her return to her hotel with a feeling of ease.

And then they took that feeling of safety from her.

He called himself the Middleman, but the men he worked for were nothing but a bunch of upper class bullies. And she held onto that fact.

 _They’re just bullies_ (who may or may not kill her-if they were planning on it, they were sure taking their sweet time).

She hated them for it.

They were in an abandoned building. It was a desolate sight, from what she could tell. (Her right eye was starting to swell). 

The neighborhood was one where the sound of gunshots and screams would go unnoticed.

He would come for her.

 _He’ll come for me. Just hang in there. Hang in-_  the punches were taking her breath away and she started to feel dizzy on top of the numbing ache.

Scars. They’ll all just be scars in the end. She’d know them in detail.

\---

When the man’s phone rang, Karen smiled a bloody grin.

_Déjà vu._

He was smart enough to carry his conversation (and gun) up to the next floor.

She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The zip ties dug into her wrists and her feet were tied at the base of the chair. She wouldn’t be making any pathetic attempts to shuffle her way across the dingy floor.

When he does find her, she sobbed at the sight of him coming around the corner. Frank glanced up at the stairs the man had walked out of before he turned his attention to her, crouching before her.

He took in the sight of Karen, weeping, swollen, hurting, and bruised. 

“Goddamn him.”

The sound she made when he cupped her cheek was one of pathetic relief. 

“Hey, shh, it’s gonna be ok. Let’s get you out of here.” He flipped open the knife from his ankle strap.

The blade was pressed against the ties when she shook her head and took a shuddering breath, “No. Frank, you can’t be here. You have to go.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you here. I’m getting you out and then I’m coming right back and blowing this guy’s head off.” His words were a furious whisper.

Karen inhaled sharply. She didn’t actually want to fight him on this. He only spoke about what she’d been imagining in her head the past…however long it’d been. It’d been cathartic. Looking up into the man’s eyes and imagining her thumbs pushing into his sockets. Hard.

Her voice was steady, her strength regained. “Listen to me. You’re going to call the police from the burner. Make up some shit-something to get them out here and find me. You can’t be here. The Punisher can’t be here. This has to be done right. Just give them time to get here.”

He gave her a look of bewilderment, “Who gives a shit about right? Jesus Christ Karen you’re-,”

“Go. Before he comes back.”

He stared at her in disbelief. _Fuck_.

From the beginning she’d told him she wanted to do this by the book (and he had said if shit hit the fan, all bets were off.)

This most definitely counted as shit hitting the fan.

But if she was going for long term reward, she was right. If he killed this guy, wouldn’t do much in the long run except ease his own mind and calm the rage. Certainly wouldn’t help take these guys down.

 It was fucked up. Some kind of twisted sacrifice.

“Karen.” His plea was pained and the look he gave her made her want to reconsider.

His thumb brushed the bruise blossoming on her neck. And she wished she could hold his hand there. Press it into her skin. Let him feel the beat under the flesh.

The sight of it all- the blood in her mouth, her labored breathing. The fear in her eyes- made him sick.

He saw white.

“Go.” She repeated more urgently.        

This time it was her who pulled away from his touch.

 And it made him want to go back in time and clutch her hand when she had gently placed it over his. Hold tight and never let go.

Frank swallowed thickly, his expression blank as he stood and exited the warehouse with one last look at the woman who closed her eyes and steeled herself.

A few moments later the man returned.

“Let’s resume.”

Karen bit down hard _. Fifteen minutes max. You can last fifteen minutes._

Frank made the call. His bullshit must have sounded convincing.

It was a pointless attempt to peek through the windows. He only saw shapes. A hazy outline of their forms through the dirty glass. He saw an arm swing and her head snap back.

The sound of a snarl ripped from his throat. “Fuck this.”

He pulled the gun from his jeans and checked the chamber. Just as he grasped the doorknob, the sound of sirens made him loosen his grip.

Frank probably stayed longer than appropriate, waited till he saw the cops pull onto the street.

If the shithead had tried to make a run for it. He would have gladly chased after him.

If the man was found with a bullet in his brain, then so be it. But the man didn’t run much to Frank’s disappointment.

 Frank watched from afar as they shoved him in the back seat. Watched as paramedics wheeled her out on a gurney and it near about killed him that he couldn’t join her.

He’d wait for her call.


	10. How to stay tender

**_"I don’t know how to stay tender_ **

**_with this much blood in my mouth"_ **

_\- emma tranter_

She felt numb by the end of it all. The questions, the pictures, the DNA swab under her fingernails.

 She wanted him by her side as she answered the endless questions, wanted him as a social worker helped her fill out the forms, as they told her she didn’t have any internal bleeding, but two of her ribs were fractured.

She wanted him with her as they monitored her overnight. Wanted him to whisper meaningless nothings when she woke in terror. Wanted it to be him, not the nurse who reoriented her, calm and reassuring, “You’re safe. It’s ok Karen, you’re safe.”

She wanted him to hold her hand as she called Ellison and told him what happened. Wanted to feel his hard grip as she swallowed her sob when she heard Ellison sigh on the other end. She imagined him taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes as she explained she’d be released and head back into the city the next day, (but may need some time off when they start prosecuting).

Her fingers pick at the white blanket, heavy on her limbs. Her voice sounds meek,“ But I got the story. Did you see the files?”

“I don’t care about the damn story, Karen. Are you alone there? I can come up and drive you back in. We’ll figure out your car later.”

And the smile she’d been forcing herself to wear, wavered. She fed him a partial lie, “No I had a friend join me on the trip. He’s grabbing my stuff from the hotel right now. I’m good. I should be back in to the office in a couple of days.”

“I don’t want to see you for at least a week. Forget the story.”

She scoffed, “Kind of hard to.”

“Well, finish it when you can. And Karen…after this I’m taking you off investigative for a little bit. Let’s see how you do with a few fluff pieces while you recover. This shit…I’m not blaming you, but don’t expect as much free reign when I put you back on.”

Karen swallowed, “I understand.”

He continued, “I’m thinking from an ethical stand point. For your own safety. You’ve got a good sense of stories and the people, but it’s not worth the cost.”

“I know.”

Before they said their goodbyes, he asked again. "Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?" He added how she’d be doing him a favor; the in-laws were in town.

She assured him, she was all taken care of. Karen wiped at the tear trailing down her cheek, and thanked him before she hung up.

She sat up, the gown scratchy against her dry skin. A groan escaped as pain ripped down her side and she pressed the button next to her, shifting as relief flowed into her tapped vein.

He called her for the fourth time that day. She didn’t have to ask.

He distracted her. This time it was stories of when he was growing up. A young Frank Castle. Karen could picture him-carefree with  the invincibility of youth.

The next day when he picked her up, she walked slowly towards her car. He was already opening the passenger door for her, guiding her in. Her purple suitcase was in the backseat (her laptop and files safely resting on top of her clothes inside).

“How are you feeling?” She blushed under the intensity of his gaze.

“Better.”

His eyes flickered in doubt, noting how she bit her lip, holding her breath.

“Honestly Frank. I’m just sore. Let’s just go home.”

The last word held all of her pent up desire.

It had been three days. It had felt like a week.

He nodded, and she closed her eyes and shifted in her seat, intent on sleeping the 5 hours back. On a whim, she took the hand he’d been resting on the glove compartment. She waited. Her eyelids heavy from the pain and exhaustion. She waited for him to gently remove his hand from her loose grip.

Karen felt the smallest of squeezes before she fell asleep, his hand in hers.

And she smiled. Her dreams were peaceful and full of light.


	11. He knows all my secrets

**_"He knows all of my secrets and still wants to kiss me."_ **

_\- Warsan Shire_

He stays with her for three days. Hands her a bag of frozen peas before she even asks and unpacks for her (her clothes, folded in her drawer with military precision). He cooks and he hovers over her.

He watches her close when she gasps, clutching her side (a splint too late). Purses his lips when he checks her sutures (5 loops keep the edges approximated).

He does it all with so much ease… and her heart aches because she knows…this is Frank. The husband. Utterly devoted.

He holds her through the night. Doesn’t hesitate to take her in his arms when she wakes, a hand clutching the sheets in a white knuckled grip.

She stays in bed with him this time.

Her back to him, pressed close against the corded muscles of his body. The light streams in through the blinds and time feels slow. The day straining against their wicked laziness.

She lingers on the edge of a dream (of summertime and picnics and catching ladybugs on her fingertips). His reels her out of it. The scene fades as if the film roll caught fire.

He sits up in her bed, the sheets twisted around his waist and he looks down at her like she’s the last bit of good in the world.

What can she say to that?

She turns to face him and sees an expression of wonder.What thought caused him to look at her so?

She doesn’t ask, but it’s that look that gives her hope.

Enough hope to sit up alongside him.

Enough to not question why she thinks pulling him to her…. brushing her lips against his, ever soft and ever light, is a good idea.

He steals her closer, tangles a hand in her hair as he deepens the kiss. She sinks lower in his lap, wraps her arms over his broad shoulders. He breaks first, resting his forehead against her as he breathes her in.

She arches into him as he presses his lips to her neck and the thought of this possession that she craved…it’s all too sweet.

Oh, how she bloomed.

Oh, how he burned.

A conclusion in a moment of solitude. She wanted his hands, even with the weight of all of his sins, on her. She accepted them with a savage grace.

Full of wanting sighs finally meeting fulfilled desires.

Later, as they lay tangled with the sweat drying on their skin, she speaks, “Can I ask… “She looked up at him, planting lazy kisses on his chest, “what revelation prompted such a display of affection?”

He gives a low hum to her teasing tone and tucks a loose strand behind her ear.

He smiled, gazes down at her resting her chin on her hands as she lay draped on him. Flush with him.

“I almost lost you.”

Her smile faltered and she kissed his palm. “You won’t lose me.”

A fierce promise, sure to be tested.

“Besides,” She looks up at him with adoration, enjoying the newfound freedom to do so, “We always find each other in the end.”

They lay reverent in the moment, sifting through new memories, tracing forgotten scars, and quietly imagining a future that could be entirely their own.

“I’m glad I met you Frank.”

It’s simple and to the point.

“You saved my life Ms. Page.”

It’s a matter of fact. She wants to argue that no, it was him in fact who saved her.

A look of love (damn her, but it was love) is all she can manage as she wonders.

_How can two people…so broken and scratched, save each other?_

She settled on one word, a word that he had buried far beyond reach only for her to unearth it for him.

_Hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> p.s this [prompt](http://lightofpage.tumblr.com/post/145872246701/i-get-a-thrill) from a while ago was kind of a post Karen's meeting with Ellison (I say yell in it, but it's more of a stern talking).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me on [tumblr](http://lightofpage.tumblr.com/)


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